


Can You Extract Me From My Plastic Fantasy?

by thereweregiants



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blackwatch Era, M/M, Mild Alcohol Abuse, Omnic Sex, Pining, mostly nonlinear timeline, not a pwp but it moved into the neighborhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 17:52:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereweregiants/pseuds/thereweregiants
Summary: Blackwatch makes and breaks its own rules, but there are lines you just don't cross.Who's ever heard of emotionally healthy coping mechanisms?Certainly not Gabriel fucking Reyes.





	Can You Extract Me From My Plastic Fantasy?

**Author's Note:**

> uh  
> "happy" valentine's day everyone  
> kind of an experiment, some writing style shit I decided to mess with to varying degrees of success  
> anyways. sorry?
> 
> title from The Dresden Dolls' [Coin Operated Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lk7IsmkexuM)  
> soundtrack to writing was Winterreise on repeat

Jesse McCree decides to make it his life’s goal to fuck the man with the scarred face roughly twenty seconds after he meets him. Jesse is handcuffed hand and foot, chained to the floor of a steel-walled room with a large mirror that he’s fairly sure has people on the other side. The job Deadlock tried to pull was supposed to be an easy hit, right up until Overwatch got their holier-than-thou asses involved. A uniformed dick had a gun trained on Jesse’s head and Jesse’d been all ready to meet his maker when the faint buzz of a radio from the man’s ear stayed his hand.

He’d been bundled into an airship, blindfolded, and taken god knows where. The blindfold is ripped off some hours later, and he blinks around the harsh, bright room as his sight adjusts. Jesse’s eyes focus on the man in front of him, looking him over. Gorgeously balanced body, weapons and ammo strapped to him everywhere, and a heavy-browed, rawboned face that sizes Jesse up with a disinterested expression. Jesse resolves right then and there that he’s going to see that wide, downturned mouth wrapped around his cock if it’s the last thing he ever does.

Jesse listens to the man’s smooth voice detail the charges against him with half an ear, instead letting his attention linger on the holsters wrapped around thick thighs, the biceps bulging under their concealing sweatshirt. The man finally stops speaking, waiting for Jesse’s gaze to wander its way up to meet his own.

He lets his mouth quirk up at one corner, knowing it makes his just-a-few-weeks-shy-of-eighteen year old face look sly, maybe a bit intriguing. Jesse learned to use his body as a weapon a depressingly long time ago, and it’s not one that Overwatch can take away from him. He looks up through his eyelashes, through the hair fallen over his forehead. That’s the stick, he drawls. What’s the carrot?

The carrot is joining Overwatch - but not really. There’s a shadow layer underneath made of killers and con men, and Jesse only has to hear a little before he knows that’s where he belongs. Jesse asks if this is a prison sentence of its own, if he can ever get out. The man shrugs. Jesse has to survive, first. That’s good news - if nothing else, Jesse is a survivor.

Let’s say he makes it. What’s next, vacation time and a retirement package? If you’re good enough, the man finally says. Jesse lets his legs fall open a little, knowing his restrained hands are nicely framing his crotch. His pants are tight and he’s been hard since he first saw the still-nameless man, so he’s sure it’s an appealing sight. I can be very good, he murmurs. The man glances him over at the movement, face still absolutely neutral. Jesse’s smile sharpens. He doesn’t see appreciation or disgust - just a blank face. A blank face means repression, and Jesse is skilled at playing the long con. The risk of death is better than jail, and maybe he’ll get a good fuck out of it. Eventually. He can wait.

Jesse shifts, rattling the chains slightly. He waits for the man’s eyes to follow the movement before accidentally-on-purpose stroking himself on his way to holding out his right hand the best he can for a handshake.

Deal, he says.

The man ignores the hand, standing up. Commander Gabriel Reyes, he states and then, welcome to Blackwatch. Jesse turns the two names over in his mouth, tasting them. He may still be in chains right now, but he already knows this is going to be fun.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Gabe holds down the man underneath him, one hand threaded through overlong brown hair trapping his head in place and the other wrapped around a tattooed forearm. He fucks hard into the willing body, thighs sliding with sweat and lube. He’s heedless of the noises coming from the other man, chasing his own pleasure with hard thrusts accompanied by harsh pants. Gabe rotates the arm in his grip until he can see the Deadlock symbol, all dark lines on tan skin. His eyes fix on the familiar tattoo as an anchor while his hips slam down again and again.

He grinds his teeth together when he comes but can’t help the low groan that’s pulled from somewhere deep down inside. He slows, lets himself collapse down onto the warm, damp skin below him. For just this moment, the only sounds are their slowing breaths and his pounding heart. For just this moment, he feels almost complete.

With a grunt he pulls out, taking a second to appreciate his come dripping from the man’s clenching hole before flopping on his back. He stares up at the ceiling, rubbing his temple with a sex-clumsy hand. This is always the worst part - the comedown, the realization.

A warm hand gently moves over his chest, tangling in the hair and tracing over the scars. Again? a low voice asks, but Gabe shakes off the hand and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The hand touches his shoulder, but withdraws as Gabe’s back tenses.

The low voice starts to talk. I’m not one to ever turn someone away but this doesn’t seem good for you, he says hesitantly. You just seem sadder every year. I rarely get repeats at all but -

 _\-  but this is year six_ , Gabe finishes in his head when the sentence trails off. He gets up without saying anything, wipes himself off on the comforter. He dresses slowly, letting himself catch glimpses of the other man out of the corner of his eye. Lets himself believe for these precious few minutes that things are almost normal.

He turns, faces the bed. Do it, he says, the tone even. Jesse’s large brown eyes look up at him from where he’s still stretched out on the hotel bed, his generous mouth set in an expression of distress. Are you - he starts.

Do it now, Gabe says again, a crack in his voice. There’s a quiet, sad sigh, and the change begins. The skin on Jesse’s face ripples, turns to the pearly white neutrality of high quality silicone. The hair turns transparent then is sucked back into the skull. The body shifts subtly as its skin changes color, loses mass and genitals, turns lean and sexless. The worst part is always the eyes. Gabe has high resolution scans of them from when Blackwatch took initial biometrics, so they’re always replicated with almost disturbing precision. He makes himself watch as the sclera turns from white to bright silver, slowly washing over the warm brown irises and dark pupils until they’re solid, seemingly sightless mirrored spheres.

Gabe makes himself look until the omnic is back to its metal and plastic self - no matter how advanced the technology, no matter how soft and flesh-like the components, that’s all it really is underneath the hard light and pigment. He needs to remember that. Remember that it’s fake. The omnic reaches over to the bedside table, hands Gabe the tablet with this year’s reference photos of Jesse still on the screen. Gabe blanks the display and tucks it away, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Don’t take this the wrong way, the now-androgynous voice behind him says as Gabe reaches the door, but I hope to not see you next year.

Gabe silently agrees as he lets the door shut behind him. Every year he tells himself this is the last time: last time to be a sad, pathetic old man, last time to lust after someone half his age. Last time to be weak.

And then once more, once another solitary year has passed - he breaks again.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jesse’s right eye is pressed to the scope, his left squinted shut. Eyes on target, he mutters into his com. He shifts in his seat - the rooftop is cold and it had rained earlier. He’s not a sniper, he doesn’t need this shit. Going in guns blazing to a nice warm building, that’s what Jesse McCree’s meant for.

Hold until signal, Reyes’s voice murmurs in his ear. Jesse could listen to that voice all day. Had listened to it for a good half hour just yesterday while jacking off - he wondered what Reyes’s reaction would be if he knew exactly how Jesse was using his training videos.

Probably nothing. Jesse had been hitting on the man, subtly and not so much, ever since he’d been recruited by force two years ago. Each and every time he was met with an expressionless face, not a bit of color in his cheeks or awkwardness in his voice. At first it had been just a game - how fast could he get the restrained man twice his age to crack? Jesse’s want had been twofold - Reyes was objectively good looking, and Jesse had heard enough rumors of what SEP had done for his and Morrison’s strength and endurance to make the man a mountain he desperately wanted to climb.

But - things had started to change, recently. A few months ago Reyes had brought Jesse into his office, and the look on his face quelled the suggestive comments about being alone that immediately came to Jesse’s lips. Reyes gave him a long, assessing look, one that made Jesse want to squirm in his shoes. I’m thinking of bringing you onto my strike team, he finally said.

Jesse’s eyes had widened. He didn’t ask if Reyes was joking, because he’d never seen evidence that the man had a sense of humor. I’m sure you can imagine where my hesitation lies, Reyes said in an even voice. I don’t worry about your technical ability, but I have doubts about your maturity.

He’s horny but he’s not stupid. Jesse straightened his back, looked at Reyes with nothing but the best professionalism he could muster up in his eyes. Give me a chance, sir, he said. I can do it if you’ll give me a chance.

Jesse tried to hide his shock as he saw the corner of Reyes’s mouth twitch. A...smile? Something in that vicinity, in any event. Kid, you’ve never called me ‘sir’ a day in your life. Don’t start now or you’ll strain something, Reyes said, the faintest touch of amusement in his voice.

He took it to heart, trying his best on the team. It was worth it - better quarters, more interesting missions. Closer work with Reyes. Like right now, where it’s just the two of them with Reyes speaking soft and intimate in his ear. Jesse shifts the slightest bit as his scope follows the suited man as he paces around the office.

Hold, says Reyes quietly, and his voice shivers down Jesse’s back. His finger tightens on the trigger, and as soon as he hears _go_ the man is down with the back of his head blown out. Jesse exhales heavily, feeling like he hasn’t really breathed in an hour. Target down, he says, trying not to let his ragged breath echo over the com.

Good work, is the reply, and Jesse absently rubs himself through his tac pants as the adrenaline buzzes through his body. Get back to command center as soon as you can, use all necessary caution, orders Reyes.

When he arrives, Reyes wraps a hand around the back of his neck, giving him a friendly shake. Nice job today, kid, he says. Keep it up and maybe you can stick around.

Jesse feels the warmth of his hand for hours, remembers it late at night for weeks after.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jesse and Genji are bent over a set of maps in a beam of light that comes through the broken roof of the warehouse they’re holed up in. At the sound of Gabe’s step, Jesse’s head jerks up to look for the noise. At seeing Gabe his face breaks out into a smile that’s brighter than the sunbeam he’s spotlit by. Gabe’s breath catches in his throat for just a second, until he inhales slowly and carefully.

It used to be easier, when Jesse just hit on him constantly. Easier in a different way, at least. Gabe had felt like he was hard half the time, continually bombarded by little strokes and touches, comments that were never quite enough to call the kid out on but always had a layer of innuendo. It was all simpler to shrug off as it was nearly impersonal - Gabe was fairly positive that Jesse had just seen him as someone to check off of his to do list, an ambition to sleep with the most powerful person in his organization. That didn’t mean it still wasn’t a turn on.

Gabe felt guilty about it in private, at how he got off on the attention and the kid’s reactions to his denial. He felt even worse when he let himself remember that the kid really was a kid, was still a teenager with adolescent leanness and a scraggly soul patch, no matter how skillfully he tried to seduce Gabe. So he took his vacation once a year, got all that guilt out at once in an anonymous hotel room in Sweden with a plastic body under him. Came back to headquarters with it out of his system, at least for a little while.

And then Gabe made either the stupidest or the smartest decision of his life and put Jesse on his strike team. Because why make his life easier?

Jesse had stepped up to the plate, working hard and pulling back on the blatant lechery. That was great, until Gabe realized why. The kid had actually started to like him. As a person. Gabe watched as he preened under the attention Gabe gave him, clutching at the rare bits of praise that were occasionally sent his way. Eventually that calmed down too, the hero worship withering as they got to know each other as people, see each others’ faults and weaknesses.

It meant that now Jesse lit up when he saw him, that he would get a delighted look on his face when Gabe’s bone dry sense of humor made an appearance. It meant that Gabe could trust Jesse to have his back, could fall asleep with him in the same room and know that he would keep watch.

It meant that Gabe had a giant weak spot and its shape was Jesse McCree.

Jesse explains the layout of the sewer system and how they’ll use it to get to the underground power station, large hands gesturing and pointing at this and that. If Genji wasn’t there to occasionally chime in and focus them, Gabe doubts he would have heard a word. Gabe nods, listens, gives orders. They’ll go under cover of darkness, and should be in and out in just an hour.

Instead they’re met with an unexpected Bastion unit and a hail of gunfire, barely escaping with lives and dignity intact. The tactical retreat is going well, right up until Jesse stumbles. Gabe looks back, curses as he sees the darker black of Jesse’s pant leg. The blood loss is heavy enough that Jesse fades fast, and after Genji’s belt is turned into a tourniquet Gabe slings the kid over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Gabe grunts as he stands - this would have been easier a few years ago, before the kid put on forty pounds of muscle.

Jesse clings to him for the next few hours as they patch him up the best they can, a hand always clenched around a limb or piece of Gabe’s uniform. It’s touch and go until they get back to HQ, and Gabe keeps by Jesse’s side until they’re about to put him under for surgery. Jesse blinks up at him woozily from the gurney. My hero, he says with a soft vague smile. Stay? he asks as they roll him away.

He can’t. Not if he wants to handle this.

Gabe stops by Jack’s office. He leans back against the wall, too keyed up to sit. I’m out for a few days, he says, following up on a lead solo.

Jack cocks his head, considers. He’s always been able to read Gabe too well. All right, he says finally. Ana can keep an eye on your lot. Anything you need her to do?

Gabe shakes his head. Just sent Genji out on a thing with Lozada’s team, they’ll be most of a week. Moira’s in the lab, and Jesse’s in surgery right now.

You don’t want to wait until he’s out?

It’s just a bullet, a through-and-through. He’ll be fine. Doc said they’ll keep me updated.

Jack leans back, too casual. You know he’ll want you there when he wakes up.

I’m sure he will. He’s a big boy, he’ll survive.

They both know better, but Gabe still leaves and gets on a commercial flight to Sweden under an assumed name. He fucks the omnic with Jesse’s face for two days straight, trying to get everything emptied from his head, trying to scrape it out from under his skin.

He lays there in the impersonal hotel bed with his head on the omnic’s thigh, stroking over the area where the bullet went in. No matter how good technology is, it’s never enough. As much as it looks like skin it’s never quite the right texture, will never smell right, will never scar. The omnic always does its best with what Gabe gives it, but it can’t replicate what it’s not aware of. It doesn’t know that his elbows are always dry and he moisturizes them with chunks of aloe, doesn’t know that he gets freckles on his shoulders in summer even under a shirt, doesn’t know about the birthmark on his knee that Genji swears is a subway map of Hanamura.

It’ll never be right, but it’s enough. It’s what he can have.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jesse didn’t know that Reyes drank. He didn’t know that Reyes could even get drunk at all, figured that miraculous system of his would have a failsafe or something. They’re at a bar in some tiny town in Belarus, after a mission gone horribly wrong. Their intel was bad, their informant having been scared by the local thugs into lying. Genji’s been off getting some experimental treatment so they have a new guy on their team.

Well. Had a new guy.

Now he’s somewhere at the bottom of a collapsed mine shaft with a three ton dead omnic on top of him, body unreachable. Jesse watches as Reyes raises a hand to the bartender, spitting out some Russian that oddly seems to get more fluent the drunker he gets. He downs the vodka with barely a flinch, which is saying something given that the vile stuff barely seems to have been processed on the way from potato to glass.

Reyes makes like he’s going to ask for another but Jesse gently pulls his hand down. What, ‘re you babysitting me now, he says with the very slightest of slurs.

I just don’t want to deal with your hangover tomorrow, Jesse replies mildly.

Reyes gives a bitter laugh. ‘Cause it’s always about you, kid. Always about you. He’s quiet for a minute as he picks at his hand. The entrance to the mine blew out and they were both peppered with a spray of wood and dirt. Reyes’s nail catches on something in the heel of his palm. He teases it out with delicate movements that he really shouldn’t be capable of given his blood alcohol level. The splinter is deceptively long, an inch of thin, smooth wood that’s pulled out gently.

‘S a metaphor, you know? he says as he turns it over in his hands, pale wood stained dark at the tip by his blood. Skinny little thing that worked your way in and now you’re in there too fucking deep. Never get you out. Can’t. Can’t catch the tip of you.

Jesse isn’t sure if Reyes is talking about him specifically or a general you or the splinter or what, but he feels like he shouldn’t be listening to it. He shoves his shoulder under an arm, levers Reyes off the stool. They have a room above the bar - the only thing available in this tiny fucking town. Reyes is still mumbling to himself, though Jesse tries not to pay attention.

Once a year I give up, y’know? Feel like that’s a fair trade. A year of being a wall, in return for a few days. Try and work it out of me. Just gets deeper though. You’re just deeper. Every fucking year.

Jesse hitches Reyes up more on his shoulder, which means his head knocks against Jesse’s, mouth against his ear. Shouldn’t do it, he murmurs, breath warm and damp. Shouldn’t - shouldn’t - shouldn’t - he finally cuts off when Jesse dumps him on the bed. He flops on his back, arms and legs jumbled together, and lets out a snore. Jesse sighs and begins to unlace his boots.

If you told the Jesse of nine years ago sitting in chains in a steel-walled room that he’d be undressing Gabriel Reyes in preparation to share a bed with him, that Jesse would already be reaching for the lube. The current Jesse just pulls off both of their boots, tugging Reyes’s hat off and setting it on the nightstand because he knows he’ll bitch about his hair if he sleeps in it.

Jesse keeps his jeans on and doesn’t get under the covers, not trusting the cleanliness of the room. He shoves at Reyes’s shoulder until he turns on his side, quieting the snores. Jesse gives in to himself, lets his hand trace down the length of the broad back in front of him. Reyes shifts into the touch in his sleep, emboldening Jesse to keep stroking.

His feelings have changed over the years, going from objectification to hero worship to team camaraderie to friendship. The want is still there, but its heat is banked under his desire to not lose Reyes as a team member and close friend. If Reyes gave the slightest indication of interest he’d be on hands and knees for him in a second, but in all their years working together he never has. Reyes and his personal life have always been opaque, even to Jesse, even after all they’ve been through. There’s a million things about Reyes that Jesse knows, but what’s in his heart has never been one of them.

He can tell that Reyes said things tonight that he’d never say sober, but he has no idea what they might mean.

Jesse pulls his hand away and moves back, feeling cold from more than just the loss of heat. He curls up and wraps his arms around himself, falling asleep to the steady sounds of Reyes’s breathing.

-x-x-x-x-x-

I didn’t think I’d see you again, the voice says quietly. Gabe hands the tablet over without looking, goes to stare out the window at the streets of Stockholm.

Me neither, he admits. Last year they had been in the middle of sex, Gabe standing as the omnic was on hands and knees on the bed. Yes, keep going, the omnic had gasped out. Keep goin’, sweetheart.

Gabe had frozen, mid-thrust. Although he knew it was an option he’d never provided voice samples - despite the entire fucked up situation, something inside him deemed that a step too far. But with the omnic’s sex-roughened voice and the endearment, it was just too much of...something. Too close to what it might have been, were it real.

He’d pulled out, tucked himself back into his pants, and fled. He still paid for the second day, but he spent it getting drunk at a dive bar in Huddinge. A man with whisky brown eyes and a crooked smile hit on him, and Gabe almost took him up on it just so he could remember what it was like to be with someone with blood in their veins. He likely would have gone through with it if he hadn’t been drunk enough that he wasn’t sure he could get it up. He went to bed cold and alone, woke up more hungover than he’d been in his life, and the looks he got from Jack and Ana at their evening briefing were enough to make him swear off alcohol for awhile.

Gabe turns around, faces the omnic. Jesse’s face looks up at him with an expression of tender concern that Gabe has certainly never seen on the real deal. Jesse’s matured a lot in the four years he’s been in Blackwatch, but there’s still a streak of ruthlessness and vulgarity that hasn’t smoothed over quite yet. Gabe isn’t sure he wants it gone - he wouldn’t be Jesse without it.

He sits on the bed, looks out the window without really seeing anything. Could we just - he stops, not sure of what he wants, not sure of what he wants to say. The omnic is a professional though, and reaches over to draw Gabe down onto the bed. It puts the lights out with a touch, leaving the room dimly lit by the fading orange light of the setting sun. Gabe lets himself be manipulated into position, lets arms wrap around him and tuck his head under a chin.

Gabe slowly relaxes muscle by muscle, and falls asleep to the omnic stroking artificially warm fingers through his hair.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Twenty eight years. As of today, Jesse McCree has been on the planet for twenty eight years. Ten of them - plus three weeks - have been in Blackwatch. Back when he first joined up, Jesse had fully expected not to live to see two decades. But somehow one year turned into another and another and now he’s been with Blackwatch for over a third of his life.

Morrison gives him some little plaque, a round metal plate thing that congratulates him on a decade with Overwatch. Jesse uses it as an ashtray. Reyes gives him a huge bottle of Jesse’s favorite bourbon, something not available outside of a tiny distillery in Kentucky, and he knows from experience they don’t do international shipping. Almost as valuable is receiving one of Reyes’s exceedingly rare hugs, something that makes him feel warm all day despite the January chill.

Genji gives him a piece of paper with an address on it. Jesse quirks an eyebrow at him, waiting for an explanation.

Just go, he says. Call me if you want when you get there, but I promise you it’ll be worth it. Jesse is skeptical.

Do I need to take time off for this? he asks.

Genji grins, something slow and wicked. I’d definitely block a few days off.

Jesse shrugs, and waits a week until his schedule is clear of missions. He requests three days off from Reyes, who asks him why so he can file the paperwork. Jesse shakes his head. Dunno, apparently it’s Genji’s birthday present to me.

Reyes raises an eyebrow. They both know what Genji can be like, the occasionally terrible ideas that make him seem more like the hellion they know he used to be instead of the reliable agent they work with now. Keep me posted, let me know if you need extraction, he says with a smirk. Jesse rolls his eyes but grins in response.

He flies out that afternoon to Scandinavia, ends up in a hotel whose cost speaks in whispered elegance. He wanders up to the main desk, feeling like he should have worn better shoes. I think there’s a reservation for me? he says, uncertainty in his voice.

The woman finds his name, checks him in. Would you like a description of our services? she asks politely. Your reservation indicates it is all paid for. Jesse nods, assuming he’ll get a rundown of the hotel gym and pool. Instead he finds his eyebrows raising higher and higher as she details what they offer.

Please excuse me for a moment, Jesse finally says with a pained smile. He walks to the far side of the lobby, hits speed dial four.

You bought me a robot hooker? he hisses into the tablet when Genji picks up.

I think they prefer the term ‘omnic of the evening’, is the amused reply.

You know what I mean, asshole. Couldn’t you just get me a bottle of booze like a normal friend?

Listen. There’s a man I know from back when - Jesse knows Genji means his Shimada clan days - who tipped me off to this place. They’re incredibly discreet, and only the best of the best work there. I know you have your tablet on you, because you’re talking to me on it. Some of them? You give them reference photos or video and they can look like anyone you want them to.

Jesse’s mouth goes dry. He very carefully doesn’t think about who he would want the omnic to look like. Anyone, he repeats faintly.

Have fun my friend, Genji says, the leer audible. There’s the beep of a dropped call, and Jesse lowers the tablet from his ear slowly. He makes his way back to the check-in desk.

Sorry, I just needed to - I - well. Sorry, ma’am.

Not a problem, sir. Do you have any preference for your company tonight?

No, ah. No. Jesse frowns at himself. He’s twenty eight, not eighteen. He really shouldn’t be thrown off like this.

If it is all right with you, I think that you would be a good match with RB-18. It is one of our most experienced companions and has nothing but glowing reviews. Would you like to peruse them?

I’m sure it’ll be fine, Jesse says. It’s not like he’ll have anything to compare it to, after all. He’s tempted to ask if this is one of the omnics who can alter themselves, but he bites his tongue before he can say something embarrassing.

Then here you go, sir. Room 228. Please feel free to use room service or call down for anything you might need. The room is fully stocked with necessary items, your companion will show you where they are. If you require anything more specialized, just let us know and we’ll accommodate it to the best of our ability.

Jesse takes the room card, makes his way upstairs. He pauses outside the room. Will it already be there? None of this is what he thought he’d be doing when he woke up this morning. He squares his shoulders. Two days ago he took down three Talon agents wearing nothing but brass knuckles, one sock, and a bad attitude. He can handle this. He’s Jesse goddamned McCree.

He enters the room - the suite, really. There’s a short hallway, and he stops abruptly when he turns the corner and sees a pale figure sitting at a chair by the desk. It’s prettier than the omnics Jesse usually deals with, that’s for sure - instead of gun turrets and a scarred metal chassis, it’s all luminous white silicone and smooth androgynous curves.

Oh, the omnic says.

Oh, it’s _you_.

Jesse cocks his head. Do we...know each other?

It was entirely possible that they had run into each other over the years on one mission or another, particularly if the omnic could look like whoever it wanted to.

No, no, my apologies. The omnic stands, glides over to him on silent feet. It touches Jesse’s shoulder gently, gestures him to the bed. Have a seat…? it trails off expectantly.

Jesse, he says. He probably should have given a false name, but it came out automatically.

Have a seat then, Jesse. Relax while I put on someone more comfortable. Let me know if there’s anything you want me to change.

Maybe this isn’t one of the ones he can request things of. Or maybe he could later, or maybe… Jesse’s thoughts derail as the omnic’s skin ripples. It darkens from its pearly sheen, becoming a warm brown. Color sweeps over its eyes, over its lips, giving it an immediate sense of humanity. Hair sprouts: dark curls on top with darker brows, body hair springing into existence in a sweeping wave.

Jesse’s so fascinated by the process that he isn’t paying attention to what the omnic actually looks like, until he does. His breath comes a little harder, a little faster.

It’s not him.

But...it could be. Nearly. A brother, or a cousin, perhaps. There’s no goatee, no scars, the facial structure is wrong, the hair too long. But almost.

Is this all right? The omnic’s voice is the same nearly-thereness - not quite deep enough, not quite smooth enough, but.

Almost.

Jesse isn’t sure what the expression on his face is, but is sure he’d be embarrassed if he could see it. The omnic steps closer, and Jesse is suddenly, immediately aware of its nakedness. It wasn’t naked as an omnic but now Jesse has to struggle to keep his eyes above the shoulders.

A large hand reaches down and cradles his jaw. You don’t have to be shy, it says. You can look, you can do whatever you desire. I’m all yours.

Jesse swallows hard, reaches a hesitant hand out to brush over the muscle - is it muscle? what is it? - of his upper chest. It’s like everything else - not quite right. Not quite human. He strokes his hands down, can feel what seems like ribs, what has edges like hipbones. The omnic isn’t human, but it’s the very next best thing.

(Jesse doesn’t know this body is an exact replica, minus the scars.)

He pauses, hands motionless on the omnic’s hips.

The omnic is still holding his jaw, tilts it up to meet its eyes. Brushes a finger over Jesse’s lips. Do you want to touch, or be touched? it asks. Jesse doesn’t speak, just moves his hands away. All right, the omnic says. All right.

Half an hour later, Jesse is stretched out over the bed, moaning as the omnic thrusts into him.

(Jesse doesn’t know that it’s exactly how the omnic gets fucked into the mattress once a year, right down to the rhythm.)

He moves his hips into a better position, cries out when the omnic slams straight into his prostate. It holds him down, pressing his shoulders into the sheets with one hand as it hoists his hips up with another. It gives him short, searching strokes until Jesse groans, then hammers that spot over and over. Jesse is clutching the sheets too tightly to get a hand on himself, but it doesn’t matter when the omnic is pounding into him so hard, so smooth, so slick.

Jesse comes, untouched and more intense than he ever has in his previous twenty eight years. He empties himself on the sheets until he feels hollow, until he feels abraded inside. The omnic is grinding into him with an arm wrapped around his chest, whispering into his ear how Jesse’s so good to him, how he always knew he would feel amazing, how he always knew, always knew.

(Jesse doesn’t know that this is word-for-word what gets mumbled into the omnic’s ear when sensation overwhelms everything and he loses control of his mouth.)

Everything slows and stops, time stretching taffy-like in the golden early evening sun. Jesse lies in a daze on his side, the omnic’s arms wrapped around him, the omnic’s cock still hard inside him.

Do you want to sleep? The omnic asks quietly, hand stroking along Jesse’s ribs. It moves to pull out but Jesse reaches back, holds it in place.

Could we just...stay like this for a while?

We can do anything you want, is the murmured reply. Jesse closes his eyes. He’s warm, he’s safe.

It’s not really him, but it’s enough. It’s what he can have.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It’s the last time, Gabe tells himself uselessly. The last time. He’d held out for a year and a half, his closer and closer friendship with Jesse the methadone to the fix he desperately desires. It’s just…

He needs more.

It’s the usual routine - call in the reservation, check in, make his way up to whatever room they put him in this time. Hand the omnic the tablet, take off his gear and hang it in the closet, get mostly undressed. Same as it’s been for eleven years.

Gabe notices, in the way he notices everything, that the omnic takes less time with the tablet than usual. Not like things are that different, it’s done it so often, Gabe thinks bitterly to himself. He sometimes wonders what the omnic thinks of all of this, playing the same part year after year. Going from lanky youth to well-built young man to dangerous-looking adult. Seeing Gabe get older and more tired, year by year.

Warm hands stroke along his back and Gabe leans back into it with a sigh, closing his eyes. Sometimes he thinks that it’s not even that it looks like him, that it’s not even the sex. It’s just touch, touch without violence.

He turns around in the omnic's arms, not bothering to open his eyes. He rubs his hands down the omnic’s sides, fingers dipping in and out of familiar scars.

Wait.

Scars?

Gabe blinks his eyes open, backs up a step. The omnic stands in front of him, perfect. Too perfect. Gabe’s gaze flickers around - there’s the slash from Sofia three years ago, here’s the exit wound from that asshole sniper in Dakar, over there is the slight bump on his left wrist where a carpal didn’t heal quite right. Gabe roughly grabs the omnic, spins it around. There are freckles on his shoulders.

What the fuck, he whispers. What - how - ?

Don’t you like it, Gabe? the omnic asks in Jesse’s drawl, turning back around. I thought this was what you wanted.

Gabe swallows hard. He’s never told the hotel or the omnic his real name, always using the same pseudonym.

He. He came here?

It was a birthday present from a friend of his. Coincidence, believe it or not. The omnic steps closer, hips moving in Jesse’s knock-kneed sway. Do you want to know what I looked like for him, Gabe?

The omnic is now close, close enough that Gabe can see the perfect ragged edges of his beard, the perfect set of three moles at the left side of his neck, the perfect thickness of chest hair that leads down, down to places that Gabe doesn’t - that Gabe can’t go.

I didn’t look exactly like you, didn’t want to give your game away. I was close, though. Lips brush his ear. Do you want to know what name he moaned out, when he couldn’t even remember his own? What it sounded like?

Gabe steps back and back, puts cold hands to his hot face. I- I can’t -

Do you want me hard for you, Gabe? Do you want to know how he looks when he wants you? A hand traiils down the too-right body, and Gabe turns away before he does something he cannot undo.

Things go fuzzy for a bit.

Gabe comes to in the elevator, fully dressed with bag in hand and breathing hard. He leaves without stopping at the front desk - they have his throwaway card on file, they know how to bill it. Gabe doesn’t stop moving until he’s in the airspace above Stockholm, going...somewhere. He doesn’t remember where he bought the ticket for, wanting to go anywhere but Zürich or where he was. He ends up landing in Madrid, gets a hotel for two days.

He spends his time in a haze of shame and alcohol, the guilt over what he’s been feeling and what he’s been doing for over a decade crashing over him and dragging him under. He finally surfaces when he gets a call from Jack, saying their meeting started and where the hell was he?

Jack doesn’t comment on his appearance, just raises an eyebrow and tells him to dry out and get back to HQ. The remorse Gabe feels at being seen like this, even over videocall, is enough to get him up off his feet. He downs inadvisable amounts of painkillers and straps a portable biotic pack to the back of his head on the plane, emerging as something closer to human.

The first time he sees Jesse, Gabe ducks into a hallway. The second time he braces himself, eventually easing into normality as Jesse rambles on about a movie marathon he and Genji are organizing, something about rōnin and cowboys.

Gabe can do this. He can. Really.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jesse can’t do this. He respects Reyes to hell and back, but this? Taking out Antonio when they had a plan, after lecturing Jesse about how they weren’t going to kill him right away and then doing it fucking anyways? They’re the most successful team in the group not just because of their individual talents, but because of how they work together. Reyes’s actions spit in the face of all of that.

Jesse knows he should give him more time to decompress after the debrief with admin, but he’s angry enough that he corners Reyes in his office as soon as he finds him there. He’s right in Reyes’s face, half-heartedly attempting not to get too loud. He tries to regulate his breathing, tries to calm himself. It doesn’t work well.

We have to fuckin’ trust each other, you ass, he hisses. I can’t have your back if you do whatever the fuck you want and leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces!

Reyes glares right back at him. You heard him, Jesse. He wasn’t going to talk. I went with plan B, you know there’s always a plan B.

Sure, if you goddamn tell us about it, so we can have a better exit strategy other than fight our way out and hope for the best!

Several people in Overwatch uniforms pass by outside, looking in the room with curiosity at the raised voices. Reyes walks over and slams the door shut. Listen, he says, taking a deep breath and still facing the door. Regardless of how you feel about it, it’s done. He’s dead, and now we deal with the aftermath. Yelling at me isn’t going to change anything.

Jesse scrubs a hand over his face. I don’t give a fuck that another Talon dick is dead, Gabe. I care that we executed him without discussion. I care that you didn’t talk to us as a group about alternative exit plans. He takes a slow, shaky breath of his own. I care that you didn’t talk to me about this beforehand. We’re good because of how we work _together_. Take that away and we’re just a bunch of fuckers that can shoot well.

Reyes turns, is leaning against the closed door and staring somewhere in the vicinity of the floor. Jesse takes the moment to look him over. So much of him is almost exactly the same as when Jesse first met him - same hard body, same roughly beautiful face, same wide, expressive mouth. He looks so tired, now - new lines are at the corners of his eyes, his cheekbones are too sharp, his jaw tight with stress and fatigue. It’s been a rough year and a rougher week, and Jesse can’t stop himself from stepping closer.

You need to trust me, Jesse says softly, exhaustedly. He reaches out, intending to grasp Reyes’s shoulder. Some imp of the perverse takes over and instead Jesse’s fingers rest along Reyes’s jawline, the ball of his thumb carefully, delicately tracing along the top of his cheek. His skin is warm, smoother than it has any right to be. To his surprise, Reyes leans in to the touch the slightest bit, eyes closing. His absurdly long eyelashes brush the tip of Jesse’s thumb, and Jesse can’t help the quick inhale of breath at the sensation.

Reyes’s eyes fly open at the sound, and there’s a look of near-panic on his face. He steps out of Jesse’s grasp to the side, and is out the door in a split second.

Jesse is left alone and confused in Reyes’s office, hand still hanging in the air.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It’s been a week since Gabe has seen Jesse. A week since their confrontation in the office, a week since Gabe had to stop himself from doing what he wanted.

He’s not hiding in his office, that would be childish. Yes, it’s midnight and he finished his paperwork two hours ago, but he has...things to do. Important things. Commander things. He’s filing binders on one of his shelves - as technologically advanced as they are, sometimes the safest place for black ops info is on paper - when there’s a beep at the door.

He knew he never should have given him that code.

Jesse steps in, shutting the door firmly behind him. You’re avoiding me, he says quietly.

I’ve been busy.

Jesse pointedly looks around the room. Gabe’s desk is nearly empty, cleaner than it’s been in five years. He just raises an eyebrow and waits.

Gabe shoves the last binder on the shelf, turns to face Jesse and crosses his arms. What do you want, kid?

Jesse takes a step closer to him. You got what you wanted, Antonio’s dead and even Morrison knows that you didn’t have much choice.

A slight frown sweeps over Gabe’s face as he shakes his head, not in negation but slight confusion. I know. We’ve moved past that.

Tilting his head in his own spot of puzzlement, Jesse takes another step forward. Then why…? His eyes widen. That’s not why you were avoiding me, then.

Gabe realizes his mistake. He should have gone with being mad still about Antonio. Not - not anything else. He wants to back up but he’s literally against a wall. His eyes move back and forth, plotting escape routes -

When he wasn’t looking, Jesse moved yet another step closer, another step into his space. He can feel the warmth from his body in the chill room. He reaches up with both hands - puts one lightly along Gabe’s jawline in an echo of their position last week, the other starts on Gabe’s shoulder then slides up to cup his neck. Gabe’s own hands are clenched in fists at his side, for if they can hold onto themselves they won’t be tempted to grasp anything else.

Jesse is close, close enough for Gabe to inhale the light scent of tobacco on his clothes, something faintly spicy from whatever he had for dinner. Gun oil, sweat. Arousal.

Tell me no, he whispers. Tell me you don’t want this, too.

Over a decade of flirting obvious and non, a decade of innuendo and insinuation, a decade of emotional transference and the unhealthiest of coping mechanisms. All of that, and it’s the bare-edged vulnerability curling around Jesse’s words that finally breaks him.

Tension snaps like a cut ligament, and Gabe crashes forward into Jesse’s arms. It’s confusing at first, all wet mouths and frantically moving hands, both men unsure of how to fit together after so many years of edging around each others’ spaces. They settle, finally, Jesse’s hands grasping at Gabe’s head as Gabe’s arms wrap around Jesse’s torso, pulling him in tightly.

Gabe bends his head to nip at the tendon standing out on Jesse’s neck, and elicits a soft moan in response. Something about the sound brings him back to himself, makes him freeze. Makes him realize what he’s doing. He unentangles himself, pulls back. Jesse stands in front of him with heaving chest and swollen lips, looking confused. Looking young.

What?

We- we can’t do this. Gabe licks his lips, can still taste Jesse there. We shouldn’t.

Jesse won’t let Gabe escape, moves to the side with him when he tries to sidle away. Don’t give me any bullshit about breakin’ rules or fraternization of any of that. We make our own rules here. _You_ make the rules here.

You’re so goddamn young -

Jesse frowns. I’m twenty nine, Gabe. It’s been a long time since I’ve been too young for anything.

You were when I - he cuts himself off, pathetically aware of what he was about to say.

There’s a light now in Jesse’s eyes. Something wild, something Gabe hasn’t seen in years. When you what, Gabe? When you first wanted me? He moves closer, chest nearly brushing the front of Gabe’s. Don’t tell me all that flirtin' back when I was a lil’ oversexed jerk actually did something.

Gabe turns his face to the side, can feel the heat in his cheeks.

Holy shit, Jesse murmurs. You’ve got a helluva poker face there, boss. Felt like I was talkin’ to a blank screen, but there was all kinds of things goin’ on behind, wasn’t there? Jesse leans forward, lips brushing the shell of Gabe’s ear. ‘M not eighteen anymore, Gabe. Now I know what I’m doing. Maybe you’ve got some, I dunno, residual Catholic guilt or some shit but that’s in the past, we’re here, now -

Gabe cuts him off with his mouth. It’s slower now, not as panicked. Gabe nips at Jesse’s lower lip until he opens up, dips his tongue in to taste him. They know each other in a thousand ways, now they get to explore a final one. It’s so different, having Jesse in flesh-and-blood in front of him. Gabe had never kissed the omnic on the mouth, but had done his share of putting his lips everywhere else.

The omnic had never made soft gasps when Gabe left sucking kisses along his jawline. The omnic never made that almost whining noise in the back of his throat when Gabe threaded a hand through his hair and tightened his grip. The omnic’s skin could never show the beautiful dark marks that Gabe pulls up on Jesse’s collarbone, just below the neckline of his uniform shirt.

Jesse had always been smooth and confident when flirting, even at his most vulgar. None of that is apparent now as his hands fumble at the zipper of Gabe’s sweatshirt, as he shakily pushes it off his shoulders. Gabe doesn’t doubt he has a distressing amount of experience in the bedroom, but none of it was with Gabe. Satisfaction and smugness move through him in waves as he pushes Jesse back until he’s sitting on Gabe’s desk.

He gets Jesse’s shirts off, until it’s bare skin under his hands. Gabe can’t help touching everywhere - reveling in the feel of flesh sliding over muscle, of the puckered smoothness of old and new scar tissue, of the creak of bone as he holds Jesse’s ribs too tightly. Jesse, for his part, strokes over Gabe’s skin with - with _reverence_ in his hands. Like this tired, fifty year old man is something precious. Like he’s the only thing Jesse’s ever wanted.

Over and over again, Gabe comes back to kiss Jesse’s mouth, to learn his lips, to cut off the words that Jesse keeps murmuring like he can’t stop, like he needs Gabe to know everything that he feels right now.

Gabe learns that desperation has a taste.

He learns that love does, too.

They lose their clothing piece by piece, the only sounds in the room the rustling of fabric on skin and then flesh on flesh. Gabe has a vague idea to go slower and savor things, but now that he has Jesse sitting on his desk, hard and cradling Gabe between his thighs - nothing less than the destruction of the building around them is going to stop him now.

Gabe pulls back after realizing what he wants, what he needs to do to Jesse. Thanking himself from months ago back when he was feeling horny and depressed, he reaches into a desk drawer, fumbles out a partially empty lube bottle. Jesse laughs a bit deep in his chest, but doesn’t do anything else other than draw Gabe back to him for another filthy kiss.

Wrapping an arm around his waist, Gabe pulls Jesse forward until he’s at the edge of the desk, until he can push Jesse’s legs apart and slide a finger inside. Jesse moves his arms back to rest on them, letting his head fall back as Gabe stretches him open. Gabe’s free to look, to touch. To watch how his abdominal muscles tense and relax, to watch the steady leaking of his cock. Gabe reaches down, folds his hand around and jacks him slowly, spreading the precome around. Jesse’s head comes up at that, staring at Gabe with dazed eyes and a mouth that hangs open just a bit.

Jesse sits up some, pushing Gabe’s hand away. He takes the lube bottle, slicks Gabe up. Jesse knows about SEP’s special little side effects, knows they don’t need a condom, so he just pulls Gabe closer to him, pulls Gabe into him. Gabe joins them into one with short little strokes, finally nestling as close as he can. They’re both quiet, motionless for a minute, the only sound their breath and the nearly inaudible hum of the air filtration system.

Gabe leans forward and Jesse leans back, after wrapping his arms around Gabe. They move together so easily, so naturally it’s almost terrifying. Gabe carves a place for himself deep in Jesse’s body, and Jesse in turn clings to Gabe like he’s the last thing in the world for him. After twelve years of foreplay and the worst kind of emotional transference, Gabe almost expected it to be anticlimactic.

Instead, it feels like coming home.

He loses track of time, doesn’t know how long they move together in the room that’s now warm and close from their body heat. Jesse pulls back, holding himself up with a hand around the back of Gabe’s neck, looking at him with lust-fogged eyes and a red, wet mouth.

Gabe - I need -

I’ve got you I’ve got you, Gabe whispers against his cheek as he fists Jesse’s cock in time with his thrusts. It’s not long before Jesse’s muscles tense and shake and he comes all over them both with a surprisingly soft sigh. Gabe leans down to kiss his slack lips as he picks up the speed, wanting to join Jesse in his post-orgasmic lassitude. Coming apparently makes Jesse talkative, and he starts to murmur into Gabe’s mouth all the things they’re going to do after this, all the places they’re going to do them.

Gabe’s hips stutter and he pushes as far into Jesse as he can, long pulses filling the cracks that Gabe isn’t already residing in. He slows and stops, and they spend a long minute just breathing into each other’s mouths, coming down from the high.

They finally move apart when their chests start to stick to each other uncomfortably. Gabe pulls out, Jesse sliding off the desk with a wince. My back’s not gonna thank me for that one, he mutters. Gabe isn’t quite sure what his face looks like, but as soon as he sees it Jesse is quick to wrap him up in his arms and kiss him, assuring him that it was just the paperclips now embedded in his ass and the angle, not anything that Gabe did.

Gabe smiles into the kiss, something he’s not used to doing. He could get used to it, though. He could get used to them. Jesse pulls back after a minute, looks seriously at Gabe. This isn’t a one-time thing, right? Not that I want to start paradin’ it around, but -

No, no. This is... Gabe stops, then starts again. This is it for me.

The bright, brilliant grin that Jesse gives him is the best thing that Gabe has ever seen.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The woman seems confused at the request.

Sir, are you sure? That model is over twenty years old and slated for retirement quite soon. The metamorphic capabilities of our newer -

He cuts her off with a slow, sad smile. No, no. I’m here for that one in specific.

She’s too professional to push it further, so she just gives him the keycard along with the barely-changed spiel about calling down if he needs anything. He nods, smiles again, goes to the elevator.

Although it’s been most of a decade, he remembers where to go. He opens the door, makes his way into the suite. Stops when he sees the omnic, who tilts its head as it examines him in turn.

I know I’ve said this multiple times before to the two of you, but this time I really, truly did not expect to see you again, it says finally.

He smiles a bit. We worked it out in the end. Thanks in part to you. It...it was good.

I’m glad to hear. A pause. But now you’re back.

I just… He trails off, staring past the omnic to the large windowed doors that lead to the balcony. It’s dark outside and the lights are on, so all he sees is his own reflection. I just had to say goodbye.

Oh. I’m sorry to hear.

He wonders how often the omnic has said that. How often it takes on the faces of the dead. He closes his eyes for just a moment to get a hold of himself, and when he opens them again Gabe is looking back at him. The same face he last kissed before getting on an Orca and leaving Blackwatch. The same face he last saw in a photograph over an empty coffin draped in a flag. A lump springs into existence in his throat, and Jesse has to swallow down saltwater as he reaches out, cups Gabe’s cheek with his metal hand.

You’ve changed.

Jesse tries to smile. Fails. You haven’t.

He pulls the robot with his dead lover’s face to him, buries his head in the space between shoulder and neck. Tomorrow he’s flying to Gibraltar, answering the recall. Tomorrow he deals with Overwatch alone for the first time.

It won’t be okay because Gabriel Reyes is dead and it’s not enough - will never, ever be enough.

But it’s what he can have.

-x-x-x-x-x-

In the darkness of night outside the room where the man and omnic embrace, a streamer of black smoke curls around and solidifies on the edge of the balcony, watching.

Waiting.

Wanting.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this is where I say I have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/thereweregiants) now. I don't know what I'm doing there, but feel free to come and say hi! or yell at me!


End file.
